Her first summer we visited the sand often. Her chubby hands exploring the thousand grains, her toes curling against the senses, warmth and coolness intermingled to create moments of pure pleasure.
The first summer passed, followed by seven others - relishing the sand again and again - this time with sisters, discovering moments of pure pleasure, again and again, each for the first time.
Monuments of grains built with eager hands, shaping, forming, creating. A masterpiece praised upon by those who created.
In a moment the monument is crumbled, a wave of water sloshes over, it tumbles and falls. Disappointment is felt, but passes with the surprises of what the wave has left behind.
As tender hands mold and shape, I am reminded about the foolish man. The one who built his house upon the sand without a strong foundation. And I think about the wise man - the one who built his house upon the rock - the secure foundation that no tumultuous wave or scuttering feet could demolish.
I think about my house. Is it being built upon the sand or upon the Solid Rock? Is it's foundation strong and secure, capable to weather the torrents of time? Does it have beams of the Word? Are it's walls built of prayer? Is it's roof shingled with grace?
I think about my house ...
The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down. ~ Proverbs 14:1